


but then pop! goes my heart

by ofjisoos (swelter)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: 96l are all roomies, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, ksy has feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swelter/pseuds/ofjisoos
Summary: soonyoung wakes up from a food coma and feels like shit on two feet. junhui absolutely does not help make things better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so, uh. not completely sure what this is. i had a lot of soonhui feelings and i love Projecting so here's a lil bit of nonsense with my obsession over apollo!jun not-so-subtly conveyed through ksy's a.m inner ramblings. warning for liberal use of the word 'fuck'. unbeta'd/unedited/i wrote this at like 4am, but enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: previously titled 'if you were an ocean, i'd learn to float'. can't believe i didn't take the opportunity to pay homage to this song (https://youtu.be/23jemZavAcw) the first time around.

soonyoung feels like death. stumbling out of bed and staggering on unstable feet towards the bathroom, his entire body is made out of lead, a deadweight sitting just in the pit of his belly that’s simultaneously all-too full and all-too much like the inside of a washing machine. he closes the door behind him and faces the mirror. 

 

he looks just as bad as he feels — have the dark circles around his eyes always been that prominent? has his complexion always been that sallow? but that could possibly be chalked up to his distorted perception right now, just a way of his entire physical being telling him, _hey buddy. you can make better choices for the sake of your own health next time_.

 

to which he says, _fuck you_ as a reply (to his sad, pathetic reflection), and goes on to wash his face and brush his teeth to somewhat revive him from his zombie-like stupor. patting his skin dry with a towel, he slings it over his shoulder and decides a mug of hot chocolate malt drink wouldn’t be bad just about now. 

 

soonyoung creeps out of his room, trying not to make too much noise lest he wakes up everyone else in the house. going down the corridor and heading over to the kitchen, it is then he realises that it is alight and that someone is awake. he stops in his tracks, just before the small junction between the kitchen entryway and the living room, considers his pride. admittedly, his roommates have seen him in far worse states, so he has nothing much to lose here, really.

 

rounding the corner, the sight he’s greeted with is one that makes him regret making that decision. 

 

“wen junhui,” soonyoung groans, slumping against the pane of the entryway. “why do you just _live_ to make me feel bad about myself?”

 

junhui looks up with wide eyes, blinking like a deer caught in headlights, and then promptly relaxes when he sees who it is. he ignores the question, deflecting with one of his own, “why’re you up?” 

 

his hands freeze mid-pour. in one, he’s holding a blender filled with some nasty concoction that smells just as horrifying as it looks, tipping it into a glass which he’s holding with another. from soonyoung’s bleary judgment of it, he can only assume that it’s some form of wheatgrass with a mixture of god-knows-what-else healthy junk crushed into a pulp for junhui’s consumption.

 

but the absolute worst part of it all is that junhui is shirtless. clad in boxer shorts and not much else, his black hair (fuckitty fuck, he works black hair even better than the previous dyed light brown hue) is tousled and his broad shoulders, all the way down to his slender waist, are bare, skin effervescent under the soft glow of the kitchen light. the faint ridges along his stomach mark the undeniable presence of toned abdominal muscles.

 

soonyoung has half a mind to march down to the police station right this second and file a report for emotional distress.

 

“i just woke up,” soonyoung points out the obvious, then highlights the less obvious, “and i’m fucking —i’m pregnant.” his stomach makes a whirling motion, as though to make a point. 

 

junhui raises an eyebrow at that.

 

“with a food baby,” soonyoung clarifies. he flails dramatically towards the kitchen island, settling on the stool and positioning his elbows on the counter. glaring at the suspicious concoction that junhui proceeds to finish pouring into his glass, he’s suddenly hit with the realisation that they’re out of chocolate malt powder, which means that the only way to get his fill of antidote is to run down to the 24/7 mini market in their apartment complex to get some. the thought of the amount of effort being put into that endeavour makes him groan a second time.

 

junhui turns around and leans against the counter, stirring his drink (if it’s even acceptable enough to be regarded as such) and eyeing him with vague amusement. “you okay?”

 

soonyoung shifts his glare to junhui’s ~~perfect~~ face. “i feel like honest-to-god garbage and you’re out here being a health nut. what do you think?”

 

“okay, grumpy,” junhui brandishes the spoon he’d been using, flicking bits of the liquefied greens into the air. gross. “you think i _want_ to do this? my manager told me to go on this- this _new diet_ ,” he rolls his eyes, like this was the part of being an actor he totally did _not_ sign up for, “for an upcoming schedule.” he sighs, dunking his spoon back into the glass and looking down with some level of devastation at it. scrunching up his nose, he takes a sip. 

 

soonyoung flinches, expecting a strong reaction out of him. junhui swallows (soonyoung definitely does not take sharp notice at the bobbing adam’s apple in his throat as he does so) and frowns, smacking his lips. 

 

“so what’s the verdict?”

 

“actually…” junhui tips back the glass for another gulp, and another. “not as bad as it looks. or smells.” he even licks the edges of his mouth where the frothy liquid’s spilled over, and soonyoung feels another lurch in his guts. it happens yet again when junhui holds the glass towards him, but for an entirely different reason.

 

“no thanks,” soonyoung shakes his head, making a face at the brew.

 

shrugging, junhui takes out the spoon that’s threatening to poke him in the eye and continues drinking. it’s like- it’s like art, the way he leans his head back, the outstretch of his smooth, slender neck exposed, full, soft-looking lips cupping the rim of the glass, just very slightly parted —

 

“you’re staring again,” junhui puts down the empty glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

“i’m not,” soonyoung almost squawks, looking away and staring fixedly at the newly installed cabinets jihoon had invested in a couple of weeks ago. they’re nice, with sleek wood finish and a general aesthetic that screams geometric modern design, just like how wonwoo had envisioned it to be. “it’s just, you know…” he trails off, trying to find the right words, “platonic appreciation. yeah. just that, from a bro to another bro over his plain-to-see adonis-like body.” 

 

fuck, if he hadn’t managed to sound even gayer than ever.

 

“adonis,” junhui hums contemplatively, “but that’s more like seungcheol hyung, don’t you think?”

 

“fine,” soonyoung huffs, “you’re like.” he gestures to all of junhui, letting his eyes trail over junhui’s arms and collarbones and chest and the v-line cutting down his hips to the waistband of his shorts and — okay, soonyoung’s really getting ahead of himself here, so he opts to squeeze them shut instead. “you’re like, fuckin’ apollo or some shit, i don’t know.”

 

“apollo,” junhui cracks into a smile, “i like that.” there’s a look on his face that soonyoung recognises as the one jihoon likes to call his ‘sleazy seducer look’ and the one he personally terms as ‘my death and destruction’. “you can be my hyacinth, then.” he tops it off with a wink. (or, rather, a blink. he’s never been particularly good winking, which is one of his few weaknesses that soonyoung is thankful for.)

 

soonyoung blinks. he’s about 80% sure that hyacinth is a type of flower, and he fails to comprehend how a flower would have anything to do with the greek sun god. but he’s not about to ask for explanation and make himself sound even stupider in one night. running fingers through his mess of a bedhead, he pushes himself of the kitchen island and grabs the house keys sitting conveniently on the counter. 

 

“where’re you going?” junhui asks, picking up his glass and going over to place it in the sink.

 

“downstairs,” soonyoung replies, fumbling amongst the bunch of keys in his grasp and trying to determine which one is the front door’s. “i need milo, stat.” he’s garbed in his pyjamas, striped and crinkled pants stained with some kind of hot sauce he’d spilled over himself that time they had a barbecue party sometime ago — in sum, not entirely presentable for public, but it’s roughly 2 a.m., and so what if the lady behind the counter’s going to cast some judgmental looks his way? he’d sooner die staying in junhui’s (very naked) presence at this very moment.

 

“i’m coming with you,” junhui holds up a hand to gesture him to pause, “let me just put on a shirt first.” he dashes off before soonyoung can say anything else.

 

(the anything else being a very specific thought: _could’ve done that sooner, you sadistic nudist_.)

 

approximately 20 minutes later, they return with bundles of groceries. upon entering through the front door, soonyoung grabs the milo packet out of a half-ripped plastic bag and rushes into the kitchen to make his fix, leaving junhui the sort the rest of the shit out by himself. 

 

soonyoung shoots a quick glance at him as he’s scooping tablespoons of powder into a mug — junhui doesn’t seem to mind, putting the blocks of butter and cartons of milk into the fridge, shifting the remnants of last night’s takeout aside to make more room for the other items. when soonyoung fills up his mug with hot water, letting the powder dissolve into a thick, chocolate blend that almost makes him drool, he notices junhui carefully organising the cereal boxes in the cabinet by type, because that’s how jihoon insisted it should be. (something about him not wanting to mistakenly choke on bran flakes in the morning when he’d intended on eating lucky charms in the first place.)

 

by the time junhui’s finished with his meticulous sorting, soonyoung’s already halfway through his beverage. his stomach no longer grumbles with the dissatisfied feel of mock indigestion, and he’s wide awake now, having slipped into his dire food coma for 6 hours beforehand. junhui, however, is letting out a yawn and soonyoung watches him rub his eye with a knuckle, bottom lip jutting out in a sleepy pout. 

 

soonyoung absentmindedly wonders how a person can be so hot and so adorable at the same time. it’s a paradox he hasn’t been able to wrap his mind around since the first time he’d met junhui some eight months ago.

 

“i’m gonna just,” junhui points a thumb over his shoulder, “catch a few winks before dawn.” he scratches at his jaw and blinks through tear-clumped eyelashes. “you feeling better now?” 

 

“yeah,” soonyoung nods. the way junhui’s looking at him makes something flutter in his belly. he waves him off, but not before a hasty, “thanks for coming with me. you didn’t have to.”

 

“no problem,” junhui smiles, and soonyoung wants to perish into nothing. he hates his state of being roused, because he’s now all-too aware of the fact that that’s exactly what he feels about junhui most of the time. like there are too many feelings in one go, and something’s about to burst amongst the constrictions in his chest. any moment, it could go off with a loud bang and soonyoung would be gone, gone, gone — like helium escaping a popped balloon, mingling with the surrounding air and rendered insignificant.

 

“good night,” junhui says, then looks up at the clock on the wall. “or. morning, i guess.”

 

“g’morning.”

 

it’s about 3 a.m. now, and soonyoung is well and duly fucked.


End file.
